


Snake Husbandry

by megzseattle



Series: The Serpent and The Seagull [15]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:28:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24889903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megzseattle/pseuds/megzseattle
Summary: Image bygoodomensficrecommendationson tumblrAziraphale does a little reading about how to manage the snakes in his life.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: The Serpent and The Seagull [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1412167
Comments: 52
Kudos: 180





	1. Chapter 1

One thing Aziraphale had learned in the first year of marriage was that Crowley always curious about what he was reading. It was nice, most of the time, having his partner show a steady interest in what he was thinking about and looking at and doing. But every once in a while, he just wanted to look at a book that he didn’t feel like sharing – something more private. He kept these books in the deepest drawer of his desk, behind a pile of folders.

The hidden books generally fell into one of three categories: romance novels, which he was secretly addicted to and which Crowley would tease him mercilessly about; books about things Crowley considered dangerous, such as spells that could injure one or the other of them but which he nonetheless felt it his duty to be somewhat informed about; and a few books that Aziraphale had acquired very early in their relationship, shortly after he’d first brought Frederick home. He had three – a slim volume on basic snake care that he’d used rather extensively at the beginning to ensure his new companion was healthy and happy, a rather fascinating and more academic book about different types of snakes and their characteristics, and one thick volume which would daunt any but the most passionate of snake enthusiasts – crammed full of tiny type and hand drawn illustrations and tissue-thin pages and titled “The Enthusiast’s Handbook of Snake Husbandry and Care.”

The third one was the one he most often reached for. Its academic and research-heavy focus appealed to him, but best of all it went on and on about snake lore – the myths and legends that had developed around snakes over the centuries – and took its time in proving or disproving them one by one. It spent a good deal of time on snake psychology and mating habits, and so help him, Aziraphale couldn’t help but draw parallels now and then not only between the book and Frederick, but between it and his spouse. Crowley was, after all, part snake. Sometimes, and especially in the winter, he was all snake, and for longer periods of time than one might expect.

Whenever he wanted to read it, he first made sure that Crowley was out and occupied for a few hours. Then he usually arranged it so that Frederick was curled up around his neck or shoulders. Best to have a plausible reason he was reading about snake husbandry if Crowley showed up unexpectedly and inquired.

But in all honestly, the truth was that he was reading and ruminating about both of the snakes in his life.

What could possibly be the harm?

**\--**

**Myth: Snakes will attack you if confronted.**

**Fact: Most snakes are not likely to attack unless they truly have no other option. When cornered, a snake will panic and do just about anything to flee the situation before resorting to brute force.**

“Crowley?” Aziraphale called from the kitchen.

Crowley looked up from his spot on the couch. “What?”

“Come in here please?”

_Oh shit_ , he thought, _the angel sounded snippy_. Snippy was never good. What had he done or forgotten to do?

“I’m comfy,” he whined, just to buy time. If he was extremely lucky, it would work and the angel would give up and take care of whatever it was himself.

“I really must insist!” the angel said.

Definitely an increase in snippiness there. Snippitude? Was that a word, Crowley thought? It should be. No one could be as snippitudinous as his angel.

He heaved himself up with a sigh and sauntered his way into the kitchen. The angel was standing with portions of the coffee maker in his hand, looking prissy.

“We’ve talked about this, Crowley,” he said, shaking the basket at him. “You have to empty the grounds out of it at least once in a while! Look at this buildup, it’s obviously been sitting there dirty for most of the week!”

Crowley sighed. “Oh cmon, angel, we’re ethereal beings! We don’t have to clean things the hard way! You just –” he snapped a finger and the basket was suddenly magically clean – “take care of it the quick way.”

Aziraphale frowned. “That is not the point! We need to talk about household chores again, Crowley. Again! You’re going to have a seat at the table and we’re going to go over the chart of things that need to be done for the eleventh time and try to –”

“Oh, I’d love to angel, really!” Crowley said over his shoulder as he made a break for it as quickly as he could without literally running. “But I’ve got a client meeting – important, very important, thwarting to be done, freelance job – you know how it is –”

“Crowley, come back here!” Aziraphale called after him, sounding exasperated.

“Can’t right now!” Crowley shouted, fingers closing around the doorknob in triumph. “Back later and we can, uh, do that thing. The talking thing. Bye!”

He made straight for the park, where he found a bench in an area he knew Aziraphale rarely visited, and set about having a long nap in the sun.

\--

**Myth: Snakes strike without warning.**

**Fact: Snakes will warn you before they strike – if they can sense you, that is.**

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Crowley warned, as Aziraphale leaned over to pick up Frederick out of the basket where he was noodled up into a tight ball.

Aziraphale straightened up. “Whyever not?”

“Because he’s in a mood.”

Aziraphale tutted. “He’s not in a mood, he’s a lovely little snake, aren’t you Frederick?” he asked, peering into the basket.

Frederick reared up his head and spat at the fuzzy angel, giving his best, loudest warning. He truly didn’t feel like biting the angel today, not unless he had no other choice.

Aziraphale pulled back, then looked up at Crowley, who made no effort whatsoever to not have a “told you so” look on his face. “What happened?”

“He had a little fight with his intended breakfast,” Crowley said.

“Which was?”

“Greckle,” Crowley said.

“All right, please explain.”

“There was a greckle hopping around on the window by your desk, and Freddie here somehow got himself up onto the sill, and tried to eat him, not realizing there was glass in between them.”

Aziraphale winced. “Did he hurt himself?”

“Hurt his pride, maybe,” Crowley said. “The stupid bird mocked him mercilessly once he saw him face plant on the window. You know how greckles are. Only thing worse than a greckle is a starling.”

Aziraphale hrmed in agreement. He couldn’t put his finger quite on why, but even he knew that starlings were utter bastards.

TELL HIM TO STAY AWAY! Frederick shrieked, his voice somewhat muffled by the fact that his head was buried beneath several loops of his body. I’M FEELING VERY BITEY!

“He says to stay away, he’s feeling bitey,” Crowley dutifully translated.

Aziraphale sat down and picked up his teacup. “Well,” he said pleasantly, “nice of him to warn me off, I suppose. Better than just sinking his teeth into my thumb. He’s a good snake, regardless of what any bird might have said.”

“Shh, angel, he’ll hear you,” Crowley said. “And then he’ll just be unbearable.”

TOO LATE! Came the muffled cry from the basket.

Crowley rolled his eyes. 

\--

**Myth: snakes have excellent eyesight and use it to see movement in their intended prey.**

**Fact: Snakes don’t always see as clearly as you might think.**

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said one day, a tone of inquiry in his voice.

Crowley looked up from his rather fascinating game of candy crush. “Yes?”

“I read in an article the other day that snakes can only see dichromatically – just two colors, blue and green,” Aziraphale said. “Is that true?”

“I dunno,” Crowley said. “Do you want me to ask him?”

“Ask who?”

“Frederick, you pillock,” Crowley said. “I’ve never specifically talked to him about what he sees. Could be interesting to find out.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, shifting guiltily in his chair, and then lighting up with false bravado. “Why yes, that’s exactly what I meant. Yes, indeed, let’s do that. Spirit of scientific inquiry and all that!”

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “You meant _me,_ didn’t you?”

“What?” Aziraphale demurred. “Heavens no. I certainly did not.”

“You did,” Crowley drawled. “Just a big ol’ serpent to you, aren’t I?”

Aziraphale looked at him pointedly. “Did you or did you not just spend two weeks mostly in snake form because it got below freezing outside?”

Crowley knew when it was time to change tactics. “Don’t you think that if I could only see the colors blue and green you would have heard about it sometime in the last six THOUSAND years?”

“Well I don’t know, do I?” Aziraphale protested. “Your eyes are very special, and it’s not like we sit around and – and paint! And I nearly ALWAYS have a blue shirt on. And the Bentley is black and the only real color in your old apartment came from the green of the plants! It seemed plausible that maybe I might have missed something.”

Crowley harrumphed. He stood up and walked over to the bookshelf to the left of the desk and ran his finger along the spines of the books there.

“Red,” he said snarkily. “Blue. Light blue. Gray. Tan. White. Kind of an orange. Dark yellow. Turquoise –”

“Oh, that last one is really more cerulean, my dear,” the angel cut in.

The demon glared at him. He came over to the desk and starting flinging Aziraphale’s pencils onto the desktop. “White. Goldenrod. Yellow. Brown. Red --”

“Actually –” the angel chirped.

“So help me, if you’re breaking in to tell me that one is more of a claret, we are going to have an argument, angel.”

Aziraphale blinked helplessly at him. “All right then,” he said faintly. “You can see colors. I don’t see what you’re so upset about.”

Crowley sat back down on the couch with a thump. He picked up his glass. “Red, by the way,” he said. “I’m drinking red.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. You’re being such a child.” Aziraphale turned back towards his work.

They both sat in silence, Aziraphale scratching away on his ledgers and Crowley staring into space, until the demon broke the silence a few minutes later.

“We should test Frederick though,” he said. “It’d be interesting.”

\--

Figuring out how to do so was a challenge. They’d learned that Freddie could point to things with his tail, so they finally settled on printing out a kind of simple color wheel for him that they laid in front of him on the kitchen table. Just the primary and secondary colors, plus black, white, and gray, all big and easy to identify. Then they got his agreement to look at various objects and try to tell them what color they were.

They held up an apple.

Frederick pointed to gray.

Carrot – gray. Lettuce – green. A picture of the sky – blue. Aziraphale – blue. Crowley – green.

“Wait a minute,” Crowley said. “What do you mean that he’s blue and I’m green? Our skin? Our hair? What are you seeing?”

Frederick looked confused, and confusion always made him irritated. I DON’T KNOW, he shrieked. HE’S JUST BLUE. BLUE IS SOFT. YOU’RE ALL GREEN AND SHARP.

“I’m mostly black and red,” Crowley pointed out to him, after translating for Aziraphale.

DON’T BE AN IDIOT, YOU’RE GREEN, JUST LIKE ME.

“He says he’s green too,” Crowley told Aziraphale.

“Fascinating!”

CAN WE BE DONE WITH THIS STUPID GAME NOW? Frederick shrieked. I’M COLD. PUT ME BACK UNDER THE HEAT LAMP, PLEASE!

Crowley sighed. “He says he’s done.” He picked him up and took him back to his heat lamp on the table in the office.

IF YOU’VE GOT ANY MORE STUPID IDEAS ABOUT THE STATE OF THE WORLD THAT YOU NEED DISPROVEN, JUST LET ME KNOW! Freddie said sarcastically as he settled back in his warm spot.

“I’ll be sure to do that,” Crowley assured him. “You’re first on the list.”

HONESTLY, BLACK AND RED. YOU’RE UNBELIEVABLE.

Crowley turned the lamp up to just the right setting, and left him to continue to snicker quietly to himself about his ridiculous owners.

\--

**Myth: Snakes are social animals and enjoy the company of other snakes.**

**Fact: Snakes, in general, do not like other snakes.**

Despite the many, many instances in which Aziraphale threatened to never take him out of the bookstore ever again, the angel often couldn’t resist taking Frederick out for a stroll on a particularly nice day. All the snake had to do was look at him in a certain way – a sort of helpless, pouty kind of expression, punctuated by a tiny tongue flick – and the fluffy one would roll his eyes, stuff him in a pocket or wrap him around his neck, and bring him along on his intended walk through the park. Frederick, for his part, would contentedly hiss and settle in for the ride, determined to be good.

It wasn’t his fault if at least some of the time, a rambunctious bird made that impossible. And better not to discuss the incident with the rat beneath the raspberry bush at all. Some things were best forgotten.

\--

On this particular day, the fluffy one and the pointy one were heading out to St. James with a bag of frozen peas for the ducks when Frederick decided he was not going to be left behind.

YO SNAKEBIRD, he shouted. I WANNA COME.

Crowley checked in with the angel, then shrugged and came over to his basket and picked him up. “Fine,” he said, draping the snake around his neck, “but you’re riding with me.”

Fine with him, Frederick thought. The nice thing about riding around Crowley’s neck was that they could actually talk the whole time. He curled up with his head on the demon’s shoulder, facing front, so he could watch all the people going by and insult them as needed. This was going to be fun.

It was a warm, beautiful day in early spring, and it seemed like half of London had headed to the park. They saw on a bench and fed the ducks their peas, then spread a blanket out on a sunny hillside and sprawled out for a rest. They were sitting there, munching on olives, when suddenly Frederick hissed and pulled his head up to stare pointedly at something.

“What?” Crowley said. “What is it?”

JUST LOOK! The snake shrieked. LOOK AT THAT!

Both of his companions turned to follow the direction he was pointing in and saw a man sitting about ten yards away. He was slim, with tight cropped hair and tattoos visible on both arms, but what was most notable about him was the extremely large yellow and white snake that was wrapped around his neck and shoulders. The snake appeared to be a yellow boa, intricately patterned in yellow and white, and had to be close to eight feet long. It literally rippled with muscle and a sense of tightly coiled power. It laid with its head on the man’s chest, languid and warm in the sun.

“Oh my,” Aziraphale said. “What a lovely specimen!” He immediately felt both of his companions turn to glare at him and couldn’t quite help himself from needling them just a little. “I mean, he’s such a lovely color… I do like yellow, you know.”

“That’s _enough_ , angel,” Crowley hissed. “You’re insulting both of us, here.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “I’m insulting you both by admiring another snake?”

YES YOU ARE, DUHHHHHH, Frederick shouted.

Crowley translated. “Especially him,” he added.

WE HATE HIM, Frederick howled.

“We do,” Crowley confirmed, continuing to share Freddie’s comments with the angel.

Aziraphale blinked. “Well,” he said firmly, “I do think the yellow, while attractive, is a bit showy. I much prefer snakes in shades of black and red, as you both know.”

Crowley rolled his shoulders and allowed himself to be mollified as Aziraphale went back to his book. He and Frederick, though, continued to watch the yellow boa and make sneering comments to each other.

“He’s not very smart, is he?” Crowley muttered at one point as the boa just… laid there.

TOTAL POSER, Frederick agreed. 

The snake, possibly picking up on some of the negativity wafting his way from a few blankets over, lifted its head and sighted them both for a moment, flicking its tongue out to scent them, and then went back to staring at whatever it had been staring at before. It looked unimpressed.

“All brawn, no brains,” Crowley said under his breath.

STRICTLY DECORATIVE.

“Couldn’t catch a bird if his life depended on it.”

PROBABLY TOO FAT TO EVEN MOVE.

Aziraphale slapped his book shut. “Will you two please stop?” he said. “You’re going to start some kind of skirmish and I’m going to have to separate everyone and then one of us is going to punched by the rather muscle-bound owner of the snake in question, and then I will be very put out.”

Frederick and Crowley both looked at him, Crowley blinking innocently and Frederick doing his best completely-harmless look.

“Why do you hate him anyways?” he asked, puzzled. “He hasn’t done anything to you.”

Crowley, eloquent as always shrugged.

JUST DO, Frederick shrieked. DON’T LIKE OTHER SNAKES.

Crowley dutifully translated.

“But… you two like each _other_ ,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley and Frederick looked a little surprised at that, and they eyed each other warily for a moment as if startled to be reminded that this should have been an issue between them.

Crowley flapped a hand around dismissively. “That’s different,” he said. “Freddie’s the only true snake here. I’m a serpent demon. It’s not the same thing at all.”

HE’S HALF BIRD, Frederick squawked indignantly. IT DOESN’T COUNT.

Plus, he thought, well aware that he’d never share these thoughts with either of them, Crowley was just _cool._ He was the largest snake Freddie had ever seen or heard of, he could fly, he had magic powers, and he was, inexplicably, a member of his family. He wasn’t about to look a gift serpent in the mouth. He knew he was one lucky king snake to end up where he was.

“Snakes don’t like other snakes,” Crowley said. “You know that. We aren’t social creatures.”

I DON’T LIKE THE LOOK OF HIM. Frederick screeched. LET’S GO OVER AND TALK TO HIM AND TELL HIM HE’S STUPID.

“Perhaps we should go,” Aziraphale said, sensing trouble.

PROBABLY, Freddie shouted. I’M PRETTY SURE I’LL END UP BEATING HIM UP IF WE STAY.

“It would save him the humiliation,” Crowley affirmed.

HE’D PROBABLY CRY.

“Almost certainly.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, tucked his book away and stood up and pushed the other two aside to shake out the blanket. He rolled it up into a tight cylinder and tucked it inside the picnic basket, then ushered Crowley and his juvenile delinquent towards the sidewalk in the opposite direction from the boa.

“Keep walking,” he said tersely as they both turned their heads to take one last glare at the yellow serpent.

The boa’s owner, looking vaguely amused, raised a hand in greeting to Aziraphale, who politely waved back.

Too bad, he thought. He seemed like a nice man. It would have been interesting to talk to him about his snake friend and see if he had any tips to share. He had the sudden urge to read more of his snake book at home, and see if he could ever hope to understand these two. He’d have to find something distracting for them both to do when they returned to the shop.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale's secret reading habits come to light.

**Myth: Snakes locate their prey with vision and scent.**

**Fact: Snakes mostly locate prey by sound.**

Frederick laid under his heat lamp later at night, basking in the warmth, and listened to the sounds of the bookshop around him. His snake senses were finely tuned – he could hear, smell, and feel his surroundings in great detail. Vision was less astute for a creature of his size and hunting habits, and he relied on it mainly to communicate with his two roommates – it had proved useful, sometimes, to see if their faces looked amused or angry at whatever he had just said. But mainly, he listened.

His inner ears were well-honed instruments, capable of receiving and interpreting sensations that were imperceptible to humans. He used it to take a thorough inventory of the world around them, to be sure that he – and all right, his persons – were safe, before slipping off to sleep.

Right now, for example, he could hear the wood slabs in the floor creaking slightly as they settled with age, the front door moving just the slightest millimeter in the breeze, the slight hissing of a bottle in the kitchen that wasn’t securely capped, and the hissing and popping of the street lamps outside. He listened carefully to four pedestrians who were moving at a brisk pace to somewhere else. Good riddance, he thought. At least they weren’t customers. He wasn’t quite sure what customers wanted, but he knew the fluffy one hated them, so he did too.

In the corner of the back room, behind the wainscoting, some kind of small rodent was chewing his way through a pile of insulation, and further out towards the outer wall he could hear the scrabbling of his mate. This irritated Frederick, who made a mental note to see if he could find a hole back there somewhere tomorrow and get in to put the fear of God into those little disease vectors.

Upstairs, he could hear a gentle murmur of conversation and the creaking of the bedsprings as the pointy one and the fluffy one settled and in and did whatever they were doing up there. He didn’t really care to know. He heard a rustle of bedsheets being pulled up or down, the slither of a shoelace being untied, a hand ruffled through hair. A long exhale. He tuned in for a moment to their conversation. Certainly he never planned to let them know that if he wanted to he could hear all of their conversations wherever they were in the shop, but luckily most of it he found incredibly boring and had no interest in letting in on.

_“—just think that you look handsome in the light from the ---”_

_“—oh you are a flatterer, you –”_

Frederick sighed, stupid owners with their stupid fluffy conversations and their inexplicable habits. He shut off that portion of his attention and turned his thoughts instead to the fourteen spiders who inhabited the bookstore at various levels. They were a much better source of gossip, thank you very much, and entirely more entertaining.

He settled in to listen to the gentle chatter of the arachnids and drifted off to sleep.

\--

Crowley could always tell when something was wrong with Aziraphale because the angel would suddenly become quiet and still.

Aziraphale, while not by any means loud, was nonetheless a source of constant, bustling noise in the background of their lives. Crowley loved the way that Aziraphale hummed while he worked – anything from ancient Gregorian chants to Bach to the little bits of bebop he’d managed to pick up in the Bentley. He shuffled papers, turned pages in his books with a soft susurration of paper moving against paper, made soft noises of fabric against fabric as he fiddled with his waistcoat absentmindedly, and was constantly moving things from one shelf to another. He whistled, sometimes, when he was especially happy. He tapped the tip of one well-tailored shoe against the floor when he was doing the accounts. He moaned and whimpered with delight when he ate very good food. He clinked his teacup against his saucer with a crisp little clink. It was like having a tiny, low level symphony playing in the background at all times.

Crowley’s old flat, by comparison, was empty and bleak and utterly silent, and there was nothing homey about that. He much preferred his new home at the shop, where if he ever felt alone he could stop for a moment and center himself, taking a deep, soothing breath and then just listening for the little signs and indicators that told him where Aziraphale was and what he was doing.

Aziraphale jumped nearly a foot off the ground when Crowley came up behind him in the stacks one day and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Good grief, Crowley,” he exclaimed, “where did you come from?”

“I just heard you back here,” the demon explained. “Came to visit.”

The angel looked happy to see him, but something about it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“What’s wrong, angel?” Crowley asked, leaning in casually against the shelf beside him.

“Nothing’s wrong,” the angel insisted. “Why do you ask?”

“You aren’t humming today,” Crowley said. “Always means something.”

Aziraphale frowned. “I hum?”

“A lot of the time, yes. You even have different songs for different moods,” Crowley said. “Hymns when you’re quiet and thoughtful, classical when you’re satisfied with the world, marches when you’re thinking over a problem, and, once in a while, Gilbert and Sullivan when you’re feeling a little bit… how should I put this… randy?”

Aziraphale blushed. “I most certainly do not.”

“You do!” Crowley insisted, grinning. “ _Three little maids from school are we; Pert as a school-girl well can be_ …”

Aziraphale thwapped him in the arm, rather hard, but then relented and laughed. “That’s poppycock and you know it,” he said. “I’m much more partial to Pirates of Penzance.”

Crowley laughed with him, then returned to his subject like a bloodhound. “So, anyway, what’s up today? You seem off.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, “I’m just worried about one of my customers – you know, the old lady with the dog? She hasn’t been in in a few weeks and that’s unlike her. Just wondering if she’s ill or hurt.”

“Can’t you, you know, check?” Crowley asked.

“Turns out I don’t have any contact information for her!” the angel said, frustrated. “I know she lives within a mile of here, but she’s always paid with cash when she buys anything, so I don’t have any record of her home address or phone.”

“Well there must be some way to track her,” Crowley said. “Where else does she go?”

Aziraphale thought for a moment. “I believe she goes to the bakery. And possibly the cleaners in the next block.”

“The cleaners deliver, don’t they?” Crowley said.

Aziraphale perked up. “They do! They’d know where she lives!”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Feel like an outing? I’m sure I could use a little infernal influence to get them to cough up the address.”

“And we can stop at the bakery and get her a box of something to deliver, as an excuse to stop by!” Aziraphale dimpled into a blinding smile. “Oh, my dear, you are simply the best. Thank you!”

He rushed off to get his coat, and if Crowley wasn’t mistaken, he heard the faintest sound of humming under his breath.

\--

**Myth: Snakes remain wild, no matter how long they live with you.**

**Fact: Over time, snakes can be tamed.**

Mrs. Barlow, as the old lady with the dog was known, turned out to have fallen a few weeks before and hurt her hip, and was no longer getting around as easily as she used to. She was delighted to open her apartment door and find that nice Mr. Fell whose bookshop she has been visiting for so long, and his partner, the dastardly and handsome Mr. Crowley. She ushered them in and settled them onto obscenely floral furniture (accented with doilies, no less) and then tried to insist on making and bringing them tea despite her injuries. It took some arguing before she agreed to allow Aziraphale to do the job. She finally relented because she already knew that he was quite competent with the tea pot.

Conscious that he was a guest in someone else’s kitchen, Aziraphale took his careful time setting the kettle to boil, and putting together a nice tray with a lovely pot complete with knitted cozy, three thin-as-paper china cups, and the pastries they’d brought on a small plate. He felt slightly worried when he realized just how long he’d left Crowley out there with Mrs. Barlow – he knew the demon hated to make small talk, and he had certainly been about his business for at least ten minutes now. Frowning, he balanced the tray carefully and headed back into the living room.

“Here we go,” he announced, emerging from the kitchen, and then he stopped in surprise.

Crowley was no longer perched uncomfortably on the embroidered antique armchair that he had been in a few minutes ago. He was now settled on the sofa next to Mrs. Barlow, huddled in close conversation with her and showing her something on his phone. They were both playing close attention to it and she had a happy smile on her face.

Aziraphale felt an absurd feeling of warmth steal over him.

“What are you two up to?” he asked as he put the tray down on the coffee table and poured, handing out the three cups.

“Your lovely young man here was just showing me the latest pictures of Frederick,” Mrs. Barlow said. “He’s such a charming little snake. I’ve missed him!”

Aziraphale smiled and took a sip of his tea. “Well we do hope you’ll be up and around to see him soon! I believe he misses you too.”

They visited for another half hour with her, leaving her with the rest of the pastries and a pot of tea that was not going to find itself empty for the rest of the evening. Aziraphale took a moment before they left to place a quick and subtle miracle over her like a mantle; Mrs. Barlow would notice later that evening that the muscles in her hip no longer ached quite as much, and that moving around was becoming a tad easier to manage. Within a few days, she would be back to normal with no residual symptoms at all. While he was at it, he also gave a quick top off to her heart and lungs, just in case. One could never be too careful.

“I know you used a miracle there to make her better, angel,” Crowley said conversationally as they headed back down the stairs to her building’s front door.

“Well of course I did!” Aziraphale said. “Can you blame me?”

“No, no, didn’t say I blamed you,” Crowley said. “Just wondered why it seemed to involve her circulatory system as well as her hip.”

Aziraphale hummed noncommittally. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he said primly. Then, changing tracks, he grinned broadly. “And _you_ , my dear boy,” he said. “You were wonderful with her! Thank you so much for cheering her up and talking with her and being generally polite!”

“What?” Crowley sniffed. “I just talked to her.”

Aziraphale was too pleased to let it pass as he knew he probably should. “There was a time,” he said, “when you would’ve skulked in the armchair I put you in and played with your phone while she and I had a visit. And now – you’re so domestic! I like it when you’re charming, my dear.”

Crowley hid the warm glow the angel’s praise brought out in him under a thin veneer of obstinacy. “Dunno what you’re going on about,” he muttered. “I can be charming. It’s no big deal.”

Aziraphale rolled his shoulders, a smile still tipping up the corners of his mouth. “You’re right, of course,” he said, clearly trying to mollify the demon. “I don’t know what I could be thinking.”

\--

 _I’m not domestic,_ the demon thought later that night as he was washing up some dishes that had been left in the sink. Domestic. What kind of word was that to saddle a bloody demon with? Honestly, the angel defied belief sometimes. Of all the stupid things to say to one’s husband. He was going to have to show his husband a thing or two about how wild and undomesticated he was.

Just as soon as he had the kitchen put to rights. If he didn’t get these plates done, they’d be a fright by morning.

He picked up his dishrag and got back to work.

**\--**

**Myth: Snakes are affectionate with their owners.**

**Fact: Snakes don’t form attachments like cats and dogs but can get used to affection with regular handling. They can learn to recognize you, but they do not crave your company**

“Oh, going out, are you dear?” Aziraphale said one Sunday morning as Crowley appeared a little earlier than usual, poured into his tight pants and with his hair mussed.

“You know I am, angel,” he muttered. “Asked me to do the shopping this morning, right?”

“Oh, yes, that’s right,” Aziraphale said, pressing a warm cup of coffee into the demon’s hand. “I forgot.”

Crowley took a long, deep sip and looked a little more alert after it.

“Where’s that list again?” he asked.

Aziraphale reached into an inside pocket and pulled out a rather alarmingly large piece of paper. “Here it is. Just a few things.”

Crowley reluctantly took it, looking like he thought it might bite him. “Two pages?” he said. “From three different shops? This is going to take me all morning.”

“Oh, but darling, you can drive as fast as you like between them!” Aziraphale said, ruffling a hand through the demon’s hair and then smoothing it down more presentably. “I’m sure you’ll be quick. And look, you can end up at the wine shop and have a chat with your friend the proprietor! That will be lovely, won’t it?”

Crowley grumbled a bit more, just for effect, finished his coffee, and headed out into the morning.

Ah good, Aziraphale sighed. He wanted to do a little reading in the forbidden books. He brewed himself a fresh cup of tea, sat down at his desk, and started reading about snake senses. No need for Frederick as a cover this time; with the ridiculous list he just gave him, Crowley wouldn’t be home for _hours._

After a moment, though, he headed over and picked up Frederick anyways. Always good to have the little fellow around.

Frederick coiled around the angel’s neck and listened as the angel murmured and hrmed and occasionally read a bit aloud. He peered down at the dusty binding of paper the angel was fiddling with and, to his surprise, found not just the impenetrable black, wiggly hash marks that they were usually covered with but instead, a large illustration of a snake.

He hissed at it instinctively, showing his fangs.

“Oh, Frederick!” the angel chuckled in surprise. “Did you get startled?” He plucked the snake off his neck and held him closer to the illustration, so he could see more clearly. “It’s just a drawing. Like a photograph.”

Frederick peered at it closer. It was a snake that looked rather like him, except that it had a flared hood of some kind around its head that made it look especially dangerous. He wished, suddenly, that he had a set of flaps like that, too. Where could one get flaps? He made a mental note to ask snakebird about it. Snakebird would know.

Bored, Frederick returned his attention to getting the angel to pet him by arranging his body and facial features in a way he thought of as maximally stupid-looking, but which seemed to translate into fluffy-world as maximally adorable. He didn’t _need_ the angel to pet him, he thought. He just liked the warmth. That was all there was to it. The fluffy idiot was way better than a heat lamp, any day. And it seemed to make the angel happy, so in addition to getting warm, Frederick was being very, very selfless. He was a freaking saint. 

He settled down on the angel’s lap with a contented sigh and did NOT make the closest snake approximation of a purr.

**\--**

Aziraphale had noted over the early millennia of their acquaintance that Crowley wasn’t particularly fond of being touched. As much as Crowley had always invaded Aziraphale’s personal space, it had become apparent early on that Crowley was much more comfortable being the one doing the handling rather than the one being handled. He supposed this was somewhat bred into a demon; Hell didn’t sound like a place that was big on cuddles, after all, and he guessed that most of the physical contact Crowley had encountered there over the years was of the unpleasant variety.

It took some time, even after they began dating, before the demon stopped stiffening up whenever Aziraphale laid a hand on him. Although Crowley was delighted to drape and pet and soothe and ruffle and stroke and offer kisses to Aziraphale no matter what the angel was doing, from reading to cooking to walking down the street, he shied away at first when the angel tried to offer the same casual affection to him. 

Aziraphale quickly realized this was partially his own fault – he’d spent so many centuries keeping his hands tightly clasped in his lap and not reciprocating Crowley’s many touches that Crowley had probably internalized this as the natural state of affairs. He set about fixing this, slowly and with infinite patience.

A year after their marriage, he considered the demon fully rehabilitated. He could now touch him casually without him jumping out of his skin. He could drape an arm across his shoulders, grab his hand, plant a kiss on his temple, and even lay a hand on his chest while he slept without the demon waking up in a panic. It was, he thought, a great honor to have such a jumpy, high strung creature trust you in such a visceral way.

Which is why, later that day, after Crowley returned from what was truly the world’s longest shopping trip, he rose to greet him at the door with a hug, and ran a hand across his back fondly while he helped him put the groceries away and store the wine. And then they put together a light lunch and sat down at the small table to enjoy it with a glass of Chenin Blanc.

“So how was Paul?” Aziraphale asked, smiling as he swirled the pale golden wine around in the glass and took an experimental sip. “Oh, this is a nice one!”

“He’s fine,” Crowley said. “Said to tell you hello and that he’s expecting a few crates of the Malbec you like later this month.”

“Wonderful!” Aziraphale beamed. “I’ll have to reserve a case!”

“Already done,” the demon said, then stretched and rose. “I think Freddie and I are going to pull an armchair into the eastern religions section and curl up in a sunbeam for a bit.”

Aziraphale happily set about puttering in the kitchen, straightening and tidying, and then wandered up to the apartment to continue reading a book he’d left on the nightstand. He’d settled into his favorite upstairs reading spot – on the overstuffed club chair that looked directly out the back windows -- and read the first three chapters when he suddenly had the strangest sensation that someone was staring at him from behind.

He put the bookmark in between the pages to mark his place and shifted around in his seat to take in the doorway. Crowley was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed. He had a book in his left hand.

A large book.

A book that was supposed to be hidden away.

“Snake husbandry?” he hissed. “Really, angel?”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake,” the angel sighed.

\--

**Myth: Angry snakes will chase a human.**

**Fact: While this is true of a few species, in most cases an angry snake that appears to rush in your direction is only trying to flee in a panic.**

Aziraphale took a moment to remove and the fussily wipe clean his reading glasses, mostly just to buy himself time. His mind whirled furiously. How had Crowley found the book? Had he forgotten to put it away? And what was he supposed to say? For once he truly had no idea.

He decided on obfuscation, and sighed heavily. “Dearest, I have a pet snake. It’s perfectly natural that I would own a few books about caring for snakes.”

> _Fact: Cobras will make themselves larger by flattening out their heads into a hood whenever they feel threatened._

Crowley took a step into the room, brandishing the book menacingly and somehow looking as if he was taking up more space than his slender frame allowed. “If it was just a book on caring for Frederick, why would you have it hidden?”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. “If it was hidden, how did you come across it?”

Two could play _this_ game.

> _Fact: Cobras will do this to make themselves look larger than they are and to potentially unnerve a predator or foe._

Crowley huffed and stepped forward until he was looming over Aziraphale in his armchair. “Frederick wanted to show me a picture of a cobra that he said you showed him earlier. Wanted to know how he could get a hood of his own. Thought it looked – what did he say? Bad ass. He thought it would make him look like more of a badass.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “As if he needs any such thing, the juvenile delinquent.”

> _Fact: Some species of cobra can produce a sound, when threatened, that sounds something like the growl of an angry dog. This is highly intimidating._

Crowley growled, loudly. “You’re changing the subject. Why are you hiding snake books in your desk? And, I suspect, making up reasons to send me out so that you can look at them?”

Aziraphale thought that was rather insightful of the demon to catch on to his shopping list shenanigans. He reminded himself to never underestimate Crowley.

“Will you quit looming over me like some kind of vulture and sit down so we can talk about this like reasonable individuals?” Aziraphale said, sounding a little tetchy.

Crowley eyed him for a minute and then stalked over to the wide windowsill and leaned on it, book still tightly clenched in his hand. He eyed the angel expectantly, one eyebrow raised, obviously waiting for an explanation.

“What do you want me to say?” the angel said, exasperated. “Yes, I have a few books about snakes. I got them when you were sleeping and I’d first gotten Frederick, so that I could learn about him. I occasionally refer to them for perspective on one thing or another.”

“About both of us?” Crowley said pointedly.

“Well I hardly see what the problem is with that!” Aziraphale protested. “You have many snake-like tendencies, and I’ve found it rather valuable here and there to provide some insight into certain behaviors that puzzle me.”

> _Fact: cobras will sometimes fire blanks, meaning that their bite does not inevitably get venom into their victims._

Crowley sputtered. “I’m not a _research_ project, Aziraphale. I’m your husband.”

Aziraphale rather explicitly did not point out that this is exactly what the title of the book said. He could tell that wouldn’t be helpful.

“Well of course I know that, darling,” Aziraphale said, feeling a little guilty despite himself.

> _Fact: while cobra bites can kill you, some cobras can also spit venom for distances of up to three feet with startlingly accurate aim._

“You can _talk_ to me if you have questions about why I’m doing something or how I’m acting,” Crowley spat. “You don’t have to play like you’re David Livingston slashing your way through the wilds of Africa and recording little notes about me in a bloody _journal._ ”

Aziraphale blinked, surprised by the perspective, but felt a cold sweat break over him as this comment hit home. He could see exactly how Crowley might be feeling, suddenly.

“I – I don’t have a journal,” he said weakly. “Truly. The only things I’ve truly looked up with respect to you have to do with vision and hearing, mostly, and – and, well, when you were first meeting Frederick, I looked up a bit about snake-to-snake rivalry to see if there was any way I could lessen the tension between you two. I promise, Crowley, that’s all.”

Crowley looked unimpressed. “And? What did you find out?”

“That some snakes like to wrestle other snakes into submission?” he offered. “Considered for a while whether that might help, except that the two of you are so poorly matched for that kind of thing.”

Crowley put the book down on his knees and held it upright with its spine on his lap, pressing the covers closed with each hand. “Let’s just see what it falls open to naturally, shall we?” he hissed. “See what pages have been most frequently used.”

He let go of the front and back covers, and the book fluttered open to somewhere in the middle. Aziraphale held his breath, hoping it was going to fall somewhere innocuous.

“Let’s see,” Crowley snarked. “What chapter is this? Is there a heading?” He leaned down and examined the page. “’Mating rituals of snakes,’” he read slowly, then looked up at Aziraphale incredulously. “Mating?? Really?”

Aziraphale’s face was uncomfortably warm. “I might have read that chapter at some point. It has not been a frequent stop.”

Crowley frowned. “The spine of the book seems to disagree with you there, angel.” He leered a little bit. “Did you have… questions? Concerns? Curiosssssity?”

Aziraphale huffed and pushed himself up from the chair,

> _Fact: a courting male cobra will often stay with the same partner for a considerable length of time and breed with the same partner for multiple seasons._

“No, I do not,” he said, walking over to Crowley and removing the book from his lap. He sat next to him on the wide, deep windowsill and set the offending book on the floor. “I have neither complaints nor questions nor prurient interests in that aspect of herpetology. Just like I have no complaints about you in that area.”

Crowley muttered something that sounded a bit like “damn right.”

Aziraphale reached a hand over and brushed it along the back of Crowley’s neck. “You know how delighted I am with you, my dear,” he said. “I’m sorry I hid the books. I just… suspected you’d take it badly, my having books about snakes.”

“Right on that front, angel,” Crowley said snippily, but his ire seemed to be fading. 

Aziraphale pushed gently on the demon until he was forced to turn slightly towards him, and then he boldly took both of his hands in his own. “Dearest,” he said softly. “You have many facets and many layers and are the most delightfully complex and fascinating being I’ve ever known. If I turned to a book to learn more about one small part of you, it doesn’t mean that I love or appreciate the other sides of you any less, or that that small piece is more important to me than anything else. Surely you must know this, don’t you?”

Crowley glowered, but without much intensity, down at their joined hands. “Suppose so,” he mumbled, not meeting the angel’s eyes.

“Of course, you do,” Aziraphale said, leaning in to place a kiss on his forehead. “You’re my husband.”

Crowley softened almost imperceptibly and leaned in just the tiniest bit.

\--

Downstairs in his basket in the sun, Frederick stopped listening to the upstairs conversation and heaved himself into a ball with a sigh. It didn’t sound like they were even discussing how to get him a hood, or some venom of his own, or the ability to bloody spit poison into someone’s eyes!

Honestly, he thought as the sounds from upstairs became more muted and interspersed with long pauses that he knew involved disgusting displays of physical contact. It was like they weren’t even _trying_ to help. It was so hard relying on two bird-mouse-human hybrids for all his basic needs. Too much emotion, he thought grumpily, and not enough cold, hard acquisitiveness.

No matter, he thought, as the last warm rays of the afternoon sun lulled him into a deep sleep. Now that the snake book was out in the open, he could keep working on them. He’d wear them down sooner or later, get them to use their strange powers to turn him into an even leaner, meaner fighting machine than he already was.

He fell asleep to dreams of future glory and prowess, ignoring any signs of canoodling with a level of determination that even a cobra couldn’t beat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley, of course, is not a cobra. But as the potential archetype of all snake-kind, he can draw on the characteristic of many species of snakes. And the cobra facts just illuminated his behavior during an argument so perfectly that I couldn't resist. 
> 
> That is it for this story - I hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> This story is something I started ages ago and made at least four false starts on. Turns out I just didn't know the characters well enough a year ago to find the right vignettes to illustrate the myths I'd chosen. :) There are eight of them; four here, four in chapter two. Here's a freddy-heavy story for all of you snek fans -- I hope you enjoyed!


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